


only a matter of whom

by angelatflightrisk



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: M/M, Oral, Rebound Sex, all three of them are trans men, bubba just wants to come a lot and go the fuck to sleep, bubba makes a hot candy man to fuck his breakup blues away, bubba needs a nap, marshall is a stupid dick, maybe i will continue this who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelatflightrisk/pseuds/angelatflightrisk
Summary: The rock candy man is sculpted to total perfection, exactly how he was drawn. Six foot eight, at least, and hulking, with gorgeous muscles scaling his entire gorgeous body, from his broad shoulders, his strong chest, to his abs and... just below. The prince feels his already pink face turn pinker, forcing his eyes back up to the creation’s face, his high cheekbones, all of him so… solid. So steady. Of course when the candy takes on a life of his own, there’s the ever present chance that this little endeavor will go wholly not as planned. After all, turning him into his own person will make him… well, his own person.It’s a risk he’s willing to take, he supposes. Although the knowledge that he has even fallen to the level of giving a chance to this route has him more than a little bit embarrassed. God, what Marhsall would say if he--He shakes his head fast to clear himself of that unpleasant thought, briskly crossing to the supply table and picking the life serum up off of it.
Relationships: Prince Gumball & Original Character(s), Prince Gumball/Marshall Lee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	only a matter of whom

The room was dark when he started, but it isn’t anymore, turning lighter shade by shade, hue by hue. It was sort of purple, and then pink, and now it’s neither, kind of blue. But it’s soft still, not like the harsh light of midday, so it can’t be that late. A quick glance to the candy clock nearly silently ticking away on the laboratory wall confirms this theory-- eight thirty.

He blows away the candy dust left from the chisel in his hands, and then his eyes flicker over that spot, and… It might be the last. He picks up the sandpaper on the table adjacent to him, and rubs the spot smooth again, carefully. He blows the dust away one last time, and then he steps back, letting himself take in the finished product, his fingers pressed sort of nervously to his lips.

The rock candy man is sculpted to total perfection, exactly how he was drawn. Six foot eight, at least, and hulking, with gorgeous muscles scaling his entire gorgeous body, from his broad shoulders, his strong chest, to his abs and... just below. The prince feels his already pink face turn pinker, forcing his eyes back up to the creation’s face, his high cheekbones, all of him so… solid. So steady. Of course when the candy takes on a life of his own, there’s the ever present chance that this little endeavor will go wholly not as planned. After all, turning him into his own person will make him… well, his own person.

It’s a risk he’s willing to take, he supposes. Although the knowledge that he has even fallen to the level of giving a _chance_ to this route has him more than a little bit embarrassed. God, what Marhsall would say if he--

He shakes his head fast to clear himself of that unpleasant thought, briskly crossing to the supply table and picking the life serum up off of it. He doesn’t allow himself to consider it further before he takes the cloth and polishes the rock candy with the substance, watching it gleam. It takes a few minutes, and then he’s finished, finding himself nervously picking at his gummy hair before he pulls his hand away, scrunching up his nose and feeling his dirty glasses shift on his face. He looks like a mess, he’s sure of it. He hasn’t been in front of a mirror in at least 72 hours, and he needs to get cleaned up. It’ll take a few hours for the rock candy to absorb the life force, which is time enough to look presentable. He leaves the room biting hard at his lip until he tastes the sugar under the surface and makes himself stop.

It takes more than a few hours for him to come back to the room, not quite on purpose. He ended up falling asleep in the bathtub, and woke up groggy and sticky, the gum of his skin pulling away in a stringy way from the tub’s edges. It happens. It took another hour of lotion beauty serums to get his skin to a presentable texture, and then maybe fifteen minutes of stretching to work out all his kinks from sleeping with his neck curved so awkwardly for hours in a lemon lime soda bath. And  _ then _ he got dressed.

Newly put together, more red than pink, and notably embarrassed, the prince slips from his chambers and makes the walk back down to the laboratory he’d left hours prior. He checks a clock on the hallway wall, and determines that he left _ten_ hours ago. Yikes. The light is turning purple again outside the windows. The man is definitely awake by now, and must have been for some time. Barnabas adjusts the sleeve of the button up peeking from under the cardigan he’s wearing, and takes the time to almost regret this decision.

But it’s too late now. He finds his hand on the door, and then he hesitates before pushing it open, eyes flickering over the room. It’s empty. Dark, even. This makes his breath catch a little, and his eyes find themselves drawn to the window, but… No. It’s intact. That’s a good sign. The adjacent door is closed, but a light shines from the crack underneath it. He bites his lip again, but then stops. He closes the door behind him carefully and crosses the room to the door, gingerly pushing it open.

“Oh, your highness!" A man's voice, "There you are.”

He freezes, heat creeping into his face. He blinks a few times, and then watches in a sort of silent bewilderment as Butterscotch Butler comes in his direction, leaving with an empty tea tray through the door the prince came in. He utters a stupid little thanks, and she gives him a sideways look as she leaves. The prince fully enters the room, closing the door and pressing all of his weight back against it, feeling his legs weaker than usual, his chest lighter. God, he’s nervous. Why is he nervous?

The rock candy man sets down the tea cup he was holding, comically smaller than his giant hands, and smiles a warm smile at the poor prince. He’s clothed now, too, sitting delicately on the edge of the made up bed. It’s a gorgeous bedroom-- that part wasn’t his doing. He’d asked Butterscotch Butler to manage that part, and she’d done a fantastic job. The lighting is soft, almost romantic, and the bed is big and comfortable looking, much like his own. He pushes down the urge to bite at his lip.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I, ah--” The prince clears his throat, and then forces himself to stand up straight, hands over his stomach, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

An unwelcome pause settles, and Barnabas laughs in a nervous, sort of jittery way, clasping his fingers together, “I-- I’m afraid you had a lot of time before I was-- able to come and see you myself, I’m sorry about that. I’m not sure what you discussed with her…”

“Oh, not much, your highness,” He says, and his voice is more gentle than the prince anticipated, all of him seems so much more gentle. The way he stands up and crosses over to him, so staggeringly tall, the way he picks up the prince’s wrists and walks him carefully to the center of the room and says, “Don’t be nervous.”

“I--” His face is incredibly warm, “Well-- I’m afraid I haven’t made quite the-- the introduction I was intending.”

The candy man smiles, and Barnabas once again clears his throat, starting the rehearsed dialogue that had been tumbling through his head while he chiseled away at the lifeless candy rock, “I-- I am Prince Gumball. Ruler of the Candy Kingdom, of which you are the newest citizen. Like all the candy people, I made you.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Oh, please. No need,” He says quietly, then continues, “I’ve made arrangements for you to be a member of the castle staff, and to stay here. You’ll be well taken care of. You’re free to decline this offer, if you’d rather, of course. And my next proposal as well.”

“Your highness?”

“I’ve-- um--” This seemed less embarrassing in theory, “Well, I… I’ve recently been through a… particularly rough breakup and--” He blinks away the image of Marshall Lee seeing this situation, swallows the shame that accompanies it, “I. Um. Well, I’ve just been… craving a man’s attention. I suppose.”

Another lengthy pause, before he timidly clarifies, “Sexual attention.”

“I see,” The man in front of him says, and he comes an inch closer, “And… this proposal?”

“I…” his breath catches a little, face turning redder as he stares at his strong chest, “Well… I wanted to ask if you… would perhaps like to join me for that. You are perfectly free to decline. You will remain a well cared for citizen either way.”

“You’re so red, your highness. Why are you embarrassed?”

Barnabas turns his face away, the backs of his hands pressed to his warm cheeks, and in an instant he feels a strong grip on his wrists, feels himself pulled close until the giant man’s legs hit the bed and he sits down, and the prince is slotted between his strong thighs with his hands pressed flush to his solid chest.

“I accept your cute proposal.”

He blinks, offering a stupid, “Thank you,” in response. The man smiles, taking the prince’s chin in his hand, gently holding him. Barnabas relaxes, a little breath leaving him as the man comes forward and presses his mouth against his skin, licking a hot stripe across his throat before kissing along his jaw, strong hands unbuttoning his cardigan, and then the shirt underneath it.

“Oh,” the prince breathes, letting his head fall back as the man pulls the clothing off of his shoulders, his mouth trailing lower to his chest, his tongue flicking over his nipple, “Oh, yes. Yes.”

“Do you like this, pretty boy?”

Barnabas gasps softly as the man picks him up at his waist and turns them around, pressing the prince down into the bed. Then those hot kisses trail down his stomach, kisses lingering at his hips as those hands unbutton his jeans and pull them away. The prince loses his breath completely at the feeling of big, rock solid fingers pressing against his dick through his underwear, rubbing gently, his thumb pressed almost nonchalantly against his hole.

“Oh, your highness. You’re already so wet. What do you want?”  
“Your mouth,” he says quickly, toes already curling from the preliminary pleasure, practically melted into the bedsheets already, “Please. Please.”

“Alright,” His underwear comes away, and he’s helplessly exposed, his dick just barely peeking through the soft pink folds between his legs, wetness already dripping from his hole. The man sighs out a little, “So pretty,” Before he licks broadly from his hole to his dick, drawing a loud whine from the embarrassed prince, making him grasp at the bedsheets, back arching. There’s really nothing like having your pussy eaten, and he’s been more than a little crazy missing it in Marshall’s wake. Marshal was perfectly aware of the weak spot the prince had for oral sex, and used that knowledge to take Barnabas apart completely more times than he cared to admit. He’d loved the other things too-- Marshall's fingers and his dick and his hole and his straps-- but the vampire’s face pressed up flush between his legs was always his favorite. There was no alternative for it. No toy felt the same. It had been driving him nuts.

“Oh! My god! Yes!” One thing he _had_ made sure of for this room was to _soundproof_ it, “Yes! Please!”

“You are so cute,” The man coos, those strong fingers petting him for a moment before his mouth goes back to work, making the prince whine loudly, shaking hands grasping at his rock solid head. There is no hair to hold onto, just the shape of (rather perfect) hair, made of smooth and solid rock candy. But he finds it hard to take issue with this when his legs are being pushed up to his chest and his pussy is being eaten better than he has ever felt before.  _ God _ .

“God. God! Yes,  _ oh-- _ I’m-- please, like that,  _ yes _ , I’m cl--” He can’t even get the thought out, embarrassingly enough. He comes fast and hard, crying out in an ungraceful and broken way, and he feels himself gushing against the man’s face, feels the movements of his mouth slow to work him through the hard orgasm.

“Mm…” He hums when he pulls back, and the prince looks up dizzily to see him licking at his lips, “So cute…”  
“Thank you…” He sighs, sitting up, his hands trailing from the man’s shoulders down to his abs, “Please, undress. I’m not nearly finished…”

“Oh, good,” The man smiles, kissing the corner of the prince’s mouth and making him smile, before he stands and strips, exposing every inch of his perfectly sculpted body. Barnabas flushes red as his pants fall away, revealing his hardened dick poking through his own folds.

“Oh, my,” The prince breathes, pulling him back over and pressing his fingers against him, hearing the man hiss in pleasure above him as he rubs gently, letting his fingers slip back to press into the wetness there, using it to lubricate his cock as he rubs it, “You’re much bigger than I am.”

“Yours is very pretty.”

“You’re very wet…” He says, a little embarrassed, stroking again for emphasis as the man moans above him.

“Mm… Like I said, your highness. Yours is very pretty…”

This makes Barnabas blush, completely flattered. The man has been nothing but polite and sweet and complimentary, and the prince has felt not a touch of frustration, of irritation, of indignation. It’s quite the change from what he’s used to. He’s used to heated arguments that turn into being pounded down into his mattress, covered in bites and incoherently screaming his lover’s name. He’s used to feeling a complicated sort of passion that leaves him satisfied and burnt up and confused.

The compliments he is used to, though. He can’t count on his hands the number of times Marshall Lee has slipped his fingers against the prince’s dripping pussy, spread him apart, called him pretty. He was nothing to Marshall if not  _ pretty _ . It was perhaps his favorite descriptor, besides the less flattering ones he produced outside of his bedroom.

“What would you like?” The prince asks.

“What would  _ you _ like?” He returns, moving to sit beside him on the bed. Barnabas’s hand follows, now just resting on his thigh as he looks up at him.

“Mm, I feel like it should be your turn. You made me feel so good…”

“Whatever you like, your highness,” He says, but as he says it he leans back against the headboard, spreading those strong legs, exposing himself. His hole is leaking wetness, his dick all but throbbing with arousal, and Barnabas makes a very quick decision as he leans over, pressing his mouth against him.

“Oh-- Wow--”

He’s not bad at this, he knows, from all the times he’s made Marshall hiss in pleasure, made him come hard and over and over again, but he finds himself concerned with his ability to do a good job in this moment. He pushes his doubts down and lets his hands rest on the back of the man’s thighs, tongue licking all through him, from his hole to his dick, and then he focuses on his dick, sucking steadily. His cock really is huge, nearly filling his mouth, so thick. Proportional to the rest of him, but big even then. His own dick is smaller than even Marshal’s, although to be fair not by much. He supposes it doesn’t really matter. The kind of men he likes don't really fuck him for his sizable cock.

“Oh. Oh my god. Such a pretty prince. Please keep sucking, my god, your little mouth is so soft…”

Barnabas blushes hot, and he can feel his skin getting stickier as this maintained heat stays with him. It happens. Marshall has pulled gum out of his hair after much too many of their encounters.

He keeps sucking, trying to keep it up when the man’s hips start bucking, not too hard but kind of fast, fucking up into the prince’s face, making him hold on too tightly for leverage as he sucks. The rock candy man moans, loud, and Barnabas feels the cock twitch in his mouth, and his hips buck one more time and he pulls off, breathless, eyes turning up to watch the man catch his breath, looking totally blissful.

“Oh my god.”

“Good?” The prince asks, and feels himself pulled up by his waist, pressed against his solid chest as his mouth presses against the prince’s neck, licking and kissing, making him whine.

“Mm, your skin is so warm, little prince. And your pretty little pussy is still leaking against me. You’re awfully worked up, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes.” Wow. Fuck.

“I’m so happy you’re having fun, pretty boy. Would you like to be fucked?”

“Yes,” He gasps, feeling his strong hand adjust him and then slip between his legs, two giant fingers petting at his dripping hole, “Yes, God, yes, yes. Please. Please. I want your fingers inside me. Please.”

“You don’t need to beg,” The man says, and the prince gasps at the feeling of big, rock solid fingers pressing into his entrance, “But it’s very, very cute. If you’d like to continue I’d be overjoyed.”

The prince moans loud and broken when those strong fingers curl against his sweet spot, “Oh. Oh god. Oh please. Oh-- Fuck!” They curl again and he can’t help it-- embarrassingly, he comes almost instantly, candy liquid squirting against the palm of the rock candy hand.

This does not stop his statuesque lover. The man’s fingers work inside him even easier now, and the sensitivity is incredible. He makes a loud, pathetic sound as those giant fingers start to fuck him, the sound his knuckles make against the prince’s soaked thighs obscene and delightful and filthy, the pleasure building up inside him all over again.

“Oh fuck! Fuck! Yes! Yes! My god, fuck me! Please!”

His back hits the soft bed hard, knees pushed up towards his chest and spread out as those fingers slam into him, stretching him out, the man’s mouth kissing and biting at his neck. He’s fucked thoroughly and perfectly, and he loses track of how much he comes by perhaps the fifth time, and when he finally falls asleep he is too fucked out to know his own name, pressed up flush to rock candy flesh.

“Hey, you.”

He winces at the familiar voice, freezing in his tracks and turning around halfway. It’s dark in the hallway, because its the middle of the night as he creeps back to his own bedroom, covered in hickeys and barely dressed in a half buttoned shirt and rolled up sweatpants that are clearly not his own. Damn it.

“Marshall, what are you doing here?”

“Wow, look at  _ you _ , Bubba,” Barnabas inwardly winces at the familiar nickname, turning around more fully to face the vampire as he floats nonchalantly in the window frame.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, no kidding, it’s my prime time. You, on the other hand? Why would the pristine little prince be creeping around the castle in the middle of the night? Covered in bites, no less.”

“They’re hickies, Marshall Lee. Not all of us use so much  _ teeth _ .”

“Yeah, okay,” The vampire’s fingers pluck idly at his own shirt collar, “What did you do? Build a hot candyman to blow off all that steam? Miss having your p--”

“That’s enough,” He practically spits, and Marshal blinks, eyes searching him. Then his expression changes.

“Oh, fuck. Did you actually?”

“Go home. I mean it.”

“Wow." He laughs, and Barnabas is too tired, too hurt, too frustrated, too confused to listen to the vampire king laugh in his face right now, "Bubba, I gotta say, I--”

“Why the fuck are you here?” The prince snaps, “Honestly! Why are you such a prick all the time! Stop creeping around my kingdom, stop showing up just to pick on me, and go home! Just let me move on!”

“I-- Woah, hey. Calm down. I wasn’t--”

“Oh, you weren’t?”

Marshall looks at him, then visibly gives up, rolling his eyes and backing out of the window, “Whatever. Whatever.”

He disappears into the night, and Barnabas stands there in the hallway. His eyes move to the clock on the wall. Three twenty.

He turns around and continues his walk back to his room, ideally to sleep for the next week.


End file.
